Renewal
by DeniseV
Summary: Rabb and Webb have had a falling out since returning from Paraguay. Will a desperate call from Webb change anything?
1. 1500 Zulu Waterfront Docks, Washington

The gunfire Commander Harmon Rabb heard on the other end of the phone was rapid and loud. It sounded like Webb was caught in the middle of something bad, but he had barely been able to discern it was the CIA operative on the phone at all with the battle raging on the other end of the line.  
  
"Webb, where are you?" Rabb asked, convinced that whatever trouble Clayton Webb had gotten himself into this time would drown out any chance of the spy hearing the question.  
  
Rabb wondered why the CIA agent was calling him at all. The Navy man thought back to a time not so long ago when he had considered Webb a friend. Things had changed a lot in the last few months; Rabb wondered when the last time was that he actually thought of Webb in those terms. He had avoided using that word to describe their relationship for a long time. It wasn't what he had wanted or ever expected based on his first dealings with the cocky, secretive man he'd initially encountered. He hadn't even wanted to work with the man, let alone call him friend.  
  
Despite their adversarial beginnings, Rabb knew that Clayton Webb had insinuated himself into his life, and ever since their first meeting Harmon Rabb's life had never been quite the same. This was not the first time in their history that Rabb had received a series of cryptic calls from his CIA friend. No, their history was a shared history of near misses and emotion- laden meetings. How they had gotten to their current state was unfortunate, and Rabb felt, irreversible.  
  
This was now the third time that his 'friend' had called under desperate circumstances. The first time had led to the thankfully false impression that Webb had been killed in an explosion onboard a freighter. The feelings that overcame Rabb once he realized that the man was not dead were surprising in their intensity. Rabb hadn't realized until the moment Chegwidden told him that Webb was gone that he would miss him in his life, despite the frustrations associated with working alongside the man. The overwhelming sense of relief in finding his friend alive was something Harmon Rabb had never forgotten.  
  
The commander never nurtured the friendship. It came naturally out of their shared sense of justice, of serving their country, of doing what was right. Rabb didn't necessarily agree with Webb's methods, but he quickly grew to realize that Webb was doing what he had to for the sake of national security. The fact that it took Webb so long to realize that they both shared that keen desire to protect their country's interests frustrated the lawyer and added to his reticence early on to welcome the CIA man into his inner sanctum.  
  
There had been many times when he regretted that restraint. His own reserve had been finely built and honed over the years, nurtured by a childhood left empty by the loss of a father and encouraged by his own unwillingness to get too close for fear of negotiating that kind of loss ever again.  
  
The second time he had experienced rushed telephone conversations with Webb was preceding that incredible day when Webb had brought Rabb's brother Sergei back from Chechnya. The emotional jolt of seeing his brother at the Vietnam Veterans memorial had almost blinded him to the injuries Webb had sustained in his efforts to get Sergei home for Christmas. There could be no more clear indication from Webb of his own affection for Rabb than the gift he had presented the JAG lawyer that midnight in December a few years before. To this day Harm could not think of the generosity shown him that day without growing emotional; he often cautioned himself to keep those thoughts for when he was not in the office.  
  
Regretfully, the strain that the Paraguay fiasco had put on their bond had been severe. Webb's return from South America, followed by months of convalescence and recovery, and his growing relationship with Mac, had wrought a chasm that seemed impossible to fill. Webb's decision to deal with his recovery in privacy had certainly contributed to their distance with each other, as had Rabb's own jealous feelings where Mac was concerned. He had insisted on practicing a self-imposed exile from Webb once he realized the spy's affections for his Marine partner.  
  
Rabb had no claim on Mac, that he knew. His inaction where Mac was concerned had left the door open, though he had always felt that the door would remain a little ajar for when his interest finally did coincide with his heart's decision to do something about it. But Rabb had found that the door was no longer open, even a little. Sarah MacKenzie had found someone who did not fall into the category of all of the other men who had let her down in the past, or who were beneath her. Clayton Webb was a formidable foe, Harmon Rabb had found. There seemed little in Mac's life that Rabb was useful for any longer, save the occasional second chair or opposing council in court.  
  
He knew it wasn't logical, but Rabb looked at Webb now more as an enemy than a friend. Finding Webb's voice on the other end of his mobile phone was the last sound he expected to hear.  
  
"Webb, I can't hear. Are you being shot at?"  
  
Rabb saw Mac heading out of Admiral Chegwidden's office. Though tempted to wave her over, he chose instead to rise and close his door as she passed through ops and into her own office.  
  
"You.might." the semi-automatic gunfire had been joined by the familiar popping sound of a nine-millimeter pistol. And it sounded close. A shockingly loud sound came next, which Rabb knew was Webb firing his own Glock.  
  
Then quiet, save some faint, rapid breathing coming through the earpiece.  
  
"Webb, you okay?"  
  
Moments passed. Rabb thought that maybe the connection had been broken, though he sensed he still had a live line, and then the sound of Webb's breathing was overtaken by the familiarity of street noise.  
  
"Webb?"  
  
"I.," the faint voice began, followed by garbled words, then, "a minute." Then silence. Dead silence.  
  
"Webb, I didn't hear what you said. You're breaking up."  
  
"Give.a minute," Webb replied, breathing heavily into the phone. Rabb could hear the rustle of something, and then another sound that was vaguely familiar. What was Webb doing?  
  
".battery.dying," Webb began again. "Can.meet me?"  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
".house thirty-four, load." Webb's cell phone was failing. If the spy didn't repeat the information again in seconds Rabb would have no way of determining exactly where he was. And he sounded like he needed help right away.  
  
"Again, Webb," Rabb demanded calmly, knowing that time was precious.  
  
"Warehou.thirty-four, dock twenty-s..." Rabb was sure he heard a groan from the CIA operative.  
  
"Which dock?"  
  
".nty-six," the heavy sigh at the end evidence of Webb's exhausted, and possibly worse state.  
  
"Clay, are you all right?"  
  
"I will be," he replied, too quietly, too weakly, too candidly for Rabb's taste.  
  
"I'll call Mac."  
  
"No! Ugh." This time Rabb recognized the definite groan of pain. "Don't.her later.need..." Rabb started up from his chair, knowing that he missed some important parts of Webb's last communication. He wondered if Webb's reluctance to have him contact Mac was security-related or something altogether different.  
  
"Okay. Sit tight. I'm on my way," he added as he headed out of JAG headquarters, his eyes lingering over Sarah MacKenzie in her office as the elevator doors closed.  
  
Rabb was sure he heard a sigh through his phone, though what came through most clearly was a grateful sounding though very weak, "'kay," before he heard the connection go quiet. 


	2. 1545 Zulu Warehouse 34, Washington

Rabb passed warehouse thirty-three and pulled his SUV to a stop at a staircase that led to a door announcing 'CP Imports, Warehouse 34'. He checked his gun and exited the car to begin his search for Webb.  
  
There was no obvious sign of any recent activity, and initially no sign of Webb. Rabb opened the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. The final part of his last communication with the operative lacked the background noise from earlier parts of the conversation: it seemed apparent to Rabb that Webb had chosen to hide behind the cover of a conveniently open door as there was no sign of forced entry.  
  
Rabb did not have to go far before finding the CIA man. Webb, though propped up against an old, gray industrial-looking desk, was listing far over to his right, his face very nearly on the floor.  
  
"Webb?" Rabb asked urgently, rushing to the man's side. No answer from the agent brought renewed alarm to Harm's actions.  
  
"Webb?" he asked again, putting his hand on Webb's arm to try to set him up straight against the desk.  
  
Webb gasped and tilted toward the ground. Rabb took his hand away, and grabbed for Webb's head and neck as it threatened to fall heavily to the hard concrete. He eased the spy down to the ground, looking quickly up at the desk for a lamp.  
  
Webb's eyes opened briefly - long enough to show Rabb that he was in extreme pain. The eyes closed again and Rabb knew that the agent was in trouble as he saw and then felt something wet on his hand.  
  
Having spotted a desk lamp, Rabb reached over and turned it on. The aid of the light only made him more worried; Webb looked ghostly white and frighteningly sick. Rabb moved the light close and saw the spreading red stain marring the designer overcoat that so defined Webb's look. Rabb could just imagine the damage to the custom-tailored suit.  
  
The shoulder wound was still bleeding, or at least had only recently abated. Webb's semi-conscious state was also of great concern. Rabb pulled his phone out.  
  
"Rabb." Webb started. He coughed, setting off a chain reaction of pain, first in the wound itself, followed by blossoming waves of pain down his right arm, and then across his back. His eyes fluttered briefly, the throbbing across his entire right side threatening to send him under again. But he knew he had to fight that feeling; he had to get Rabb to put that phone down.  
  
"Don't." He tried to reach out with his left hand, his touch faint against Rabb's forearm. The hand fell down to his side, Webb's strength failing him.  
  
"Clay, you need a doctor. You're gonna bleed to death," Rabb cautioned as he began to unbutton first the coat, and then the jacket and vest in order to assess Webb's injury.  
  
"Can't," Webb tried again, blinking his eyes to try to get Rabb to stop shifting around. He felt he might pass out at any moment. In fact, he wasn't sure he hadn't already done that when Rabb suddenly came clearly within his sight. He had to get Rabb's assent for his plan before losing consciousness again.  
  
"Yes you can." Rabb eyed Webb with concern as the agent provided only one- word responses. Rabb continued to move layers aside in order to check the bullet wound. Webb hissed as Rabb pulled the soaked shirt from the injury, and then tensed as the entrance wound was examined. Sweat trickled down Webb's forehead, making its way fleetingly down his cheek, disappearing into his already drenched collar.  
  
"The bleeding's about stopped. I'm going to lean you over to check for an exit wound," Rabb instructed as he knelt further to look into Webb's eyes. He knew he'd glean as much about Webb's condition from that as he would from inspecting the bloody, scorched skin where the bullet entered.  
  
"Wait," Webb begged, trembling from the brief touch. His moist, white face told as much as the simple plea. Webb was in serious trouble here. Rabb hoped he'd be able to get them out of the warehouse district without running across those responsible for putting Webb in this state.  
  
"Easy, Clay." Rabb removed his hands, knowing the touch had caused more discomfort, necessary though it was.  
  
"There's an exit wound," Webb offered, exhaustion setting in. His eyes drifted shut, his head falling away from Rabb.  
  
They should be thankful for small favors, Rabb thought.  
  
"We've gotta move, Clay," Rabb said as he eased Webb back up against the desk. "Whoever did this could come back at any time. Let's get you to a hospital while the bleeding's stopped."  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Rabb was incredulous.  
  
"Check.agh." Webb stifled a cry, the agonizing pain shooting daggers as before. Webb grimaced, gritting his teeth as he rode out the waves of pain. "Oh god," he sighed softly, as the sharp, shocking pain subsided, giving way to intense heat and throbbing.  
  
"Check the .inside.of my.collar," he finally managed to direct as he breathed through the gnawing pain in his shoulder.  
  
"Your collar? Webb," Rabb began, frustrated by what the spy considered important at a time like this.  
  
"Harm?" The pleading tone and the operative's use of his first name told the JAG lawyer the desperate importance Clayton Webb placed on the directive.  
  
Rabb felt the inside collar of Webb's overcoat. He started in the center and worked both hands toward the shoulders, taking care not to jar the wounded man on the right side. Rabb watched Webb's face as he felt for whatever it was that the spy thought he should find. The CIA operative's eyes remained closed throughout the inspection. Rabb found nothing, but made one more pass back toward the center of the collar when, suddenly, he felt something. It was small, but there was definitely something there. He stopped short, the sudden lack of movement bringing Webb's eyes open.  
  
"You found it."  
  
Rabb left it in place. "What is it?"  
  
"Tracking device. Agh!" Once again, the convulsing pain made itself known, causing Webb to pitch forward against the Navy commander. Rabb stopped Webb's fall with a hand on the ailing man's chest, and then put his other hand on Webb's good shoulder, rubbing soothingly, hoping to ease the pain and trembling the suffering CIA man was going through.  
  
"Webb, let's."  
  
"No. Need." he breathed sharply as the daggers ebbed and flowed through the upper right side of his body. "Need them to come back. Draw them back."  
  
"Webb, you can't."  
  
"They'll come back, Harm," he said as he gave in and rested his head against Rabb's willing shoulder. "I'm all that's." Webb's breathing was not masking in the least his obvious discomfort. "I'm all that's standing between them.and.and a death sentence."  
  
Rabb looked at his friend. The familiar feelings were beginning to rear their ugly head. He had worked hard to rid himself of these feelings for Clayton Webb, the commitment to a friendship that never seemed fully realized. A friendship that always managed to have a string attached, a quid pro quo always in the mix that prevented the friendship from moving beyond a certain point. But seeing Webb in this condition, and knowing the man well enough to accept on faith that he had placed himself in danger for the good of the country they were both committed to protecting, proved too much for Rabb to fight in the end.  
  
He was going to do what Webb wanted, this he knew for certain, even if it meant risking Clayton Webb's life.  
  
Rabb noted Webb hovering on the edge of consciousness. The man needed some rest, and they needed a place to regroup, a place to work out a plan, a place to treat Webb's wounds. Infection was opportunistic with injuries such as these. Even in the best conditions, infection and fever were hard to avoid.  
  
"Okay. What do you want to do?" Rabb asked reluctantly.  
  
"There's a cabin. Forty-five minutes from here. It's fortified." Webb looked at Rabb, gauging the Navy man's understanding of the euphemism.  
  
"Fortified, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. You know. Food. Weapons."  
  
"Medical supplies?"  
  
"That, too." Webb knew he was asking a lot, and risking a lot. But he also knew that Harmon Rabb was up to the task.  
  
"Okay. You're sure?"  
  
"Harm, they won't take long. This'll be over." Webb gritted his teeth, this time through what appeared more like dizziness and nausea to Rabb than the recent severe bouts of pain. "It'll be over before sunrise tomorrow."  
  
"One way or the other?" Rabb asked knowingly.  
  
"Only one way," Webb stated firmly.  
  
"Are you ready to get up?" Rabb questioned, pretty sure what his own answer would be to the inquiry in similar circumstances.  
  
The thought brought another touch of nausea to the spy. He swiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overcoat and, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, said, "Sure."  
  
"You don't seem sure."  
  
"I was being nice."  
  
"Let me do the work," Rabb started.  
  
"I can help," Webb insisted.  
  
Rabb assisted the operative to his feet. Despite Rabb's best efforts, the movement jarred Webb's bad shoulder, forcing his knees to buckle as he stifled a cry of pain. He swayed heavily as Rabb held him up, Webb's left hand a vise grip on Rabb's forearm.  
  
"Take it slow, Clay," Rabb said, looking with concern as Webb's face grew whiter. Webb leaned against the larger man's chest, not sure he could take even one step without going down.  
  
"Let me.try." the nausea was fighting with the spy, waging a war Webb was bound to lose. He breathed through it, determined to be victorious, at least this one time. "I just need.a minute," Webb continued, biting back bile. Rabb noted the determined effort the man before him made to overcome the dizziness, and more, that Webb was experiencing. Rabb held him steady as the agent got his footing.  
  
"I'm okay," Webb finally offered, taking a hesitant step, Rabb supporting him. The lawyer noted the deliberate pace and how the agent had unconsciously grabbed onto his forearm as though the support was all that was keeping him upright. Rabb was glad that Webb still trusted him enough to give up that control, considering their strained existence of late.  
  
The walk to the exit progressed slowly, Rabb keenly aware that whoever it was that Webb expected might return could easily be waiting in the shadows within the rows of boxes and crates that resembled a maze within the confines of this warehouse. Leaving the building could expose them even more, but Webb's condition left them little choice.  
  
Rabb shifted Webb slightly, putting his arm around the operative's waist as he opened the exit door. A cold front was bearing down on D.C., and as the wind made its way through the opening, the shiver that made its way through the injured man sent new waves of concern through the JAG lawyer.  
  
Rabb eyed his charge. "I'll be fine. L-let's get going." Rabb silently agreed that moving out of the area quickly made the most sense, despite his own fear for what delaying medical help to Webb might cost them.  
  
They worked their way uneventfully to Rabb's car. Rabb leaned Webb against the Lexus and said, "Can you manage to stand here a minute without falling down?  
  
Webb understood that Rabb was trying to take the edge off of their dire situation, but he wasn't sure he could answer that question with any honesty in the affirmative. He decided sarcasm worked better than honesty at that moment.  
  
"I'll see what I can do."  
  
Rabb pressed a firm hand on Webb's chest, hoping to provide some sense of comfort to the ailing man.  
  
The Navy man headed to the back of the vehicle. Webb could hear things jostling, but he had no real sense of what was happening. The dizziness had gripped him again full force, and he prepared himself for the onslaught of pain he knew that feeling harkened.  
  
Rabb returned, though Webb only knew this from the movement of his body, first forward to lean against Rabb's chest. That was followed by sudden warmth as a blanket was placed around his shoulders. Then he was leaned back against the car. But this time, the car seemed unwilling to hold his body up. He heard a sound, then started falling against his will to the ground.  
  
Rabb turned and swiftly stopped Webb from hitting the pavement, though the sudden jolt to his shoulder brought the stabbing pain back en force.  
  
Webb's eyes rolled back, oblivion beckoning. "Webb, stay with me. Webb!"  
  
Webb noted the alarm in the voice. He knew he should try to stay awake. The pain threatened to drown out everything, the daggers meeting their marks with each lunge of the invisible knife.  
  
"Webb," Rabb said again, holding the full weight of his injured comrade. Webb's eyes came open suddenly, full of fear and confusion.  
  
Rabb recognized the look. Just as he prepared to ask the question, Webb managed, "I'm gonna be sick." He pushed away from the vehicle and violently vomited at the side of the steps. Webb fell to his knees, stopping his fall into the vile puddle with his left hand, an uncontrollable groan emitted as the aborted collision to the ground jarred his inflamed right shoulder.  
  
Rabb grabbed Webb across his waist and good shoulder, supporting his body as it trembled violently from the horrible retching. The spy's body was reacting fiercely to the violation the metal ripping through it had borne. Rabb continued holding him through the spasms of dry heaves, and then settled the exhausted body down to the ground.  
  
His body spent, his stomach emptied, Webb shivered, his breathing bordering on hyperventilation.  
  
"Easy Webb. Breathe slowly," Rabb encouraged, keeping his voice low, his instructions calm and simple. Though somewhat uncomfortable with the motion, Rabb massaged the shaking man's back, knowing the action could have a beneficial, calming effect, avoiding the right side that was causing the spy so much pain.  
  
Webb was leaning heavily against Rabb now, oblivious to just how much he was doing so. Rabb was worried about how out of it Webb seemed; maybe he should ignore the CIA man and just get him to a hospital.  
  
They sat together for a good while as Rabb let Webb recover from the onslaught of illness. He looked down, as Webb had slipped down into his lap from the previous position against his chest. Webb continued to breathe heavily, though the threat of hyperventilating had passed.  
  
The CIA operative's hair hung damp in his face. Rabb couldn't tell how awake he was, so he moved the limp locks to get a look at the man. His hand hovered long enough on Webb's forehead to note the beginnings of fever. Rabb knew they would need to move quickly - he needed to clean and treat the wound soon to stave off, as best as the supplies would allow, the guaranteed infection to come.  
  
"Help me up," Webb directed weakly. Rabb did as he was told, repositioning the blanket that had shifted off of Webb's shoulders.  
  
Rabb turned to place Webb in the back of the car. "No, front seat."  
  
"Clay, you'll be more comfortable in the back."  
  
"No." Rabb didn't understand what Webb thought he would gain by being in the front, but the time and effort wasted arguing was definitely not worth the cost. Rabb helped the injured man in, not an easy task as he tried to avoid any pressure on Webb's right side.  
  
He shut the door, noting the smear of blood on the panel of his SUV. The exit wound was bleeding again, the wracking of his body through the earlier illness having started the blood flowing once more. Rabb grabbed a few items out of the back of the vehicle and returned to the passenger side.  
  
"I need you to sit forward a bit, Clay. Your back is bleeding again. I'm gonna put this towel between you and the seat." Webb quietly did as he was told, holding on to the dashboard to prevent falling head first into it.  
  
"Afraid I'll soil your seats?" Webb jibed, the attempt at humor both painful and comforting to the Navy man.  
  
Rabb smiled at the effort. He quickly finished and set Webb back into the seat. The shivering continued, and the ghastly white complexion seemed worse: both indications of shock.  
  
Rabb decided against buckling the seatbelt, the light pressure against the wound likely to send Webb back to unconsciousness. He placed a small pillow between Webb and the door, then shut it and got behind the wheel, quickly switching the heat on high.  
  
"Where to?" Rabb asked, eyeing Webb, wondering how long the spy would remain with him before losing him to sleep, or unconsciousness.  
  
"Out 66.then south to Manassas..." Webb's exhaustion was clear and painful to witness. Rabb wanted to let the man rest, though he allowed him to continue with the directions. He decided to let his curiosity sit the ride out, giving Webb a chance for some peace. There would be time enough for questioning when they reached the cabin. 


	3. 1645 Zulu CIA Cabin, Manassas, VA

Webb had estimated the time to the cabin accurately. In the forty-five minutes it took them to reach the remote, 'fortified' cabin, Webb had drifted in and out of consciousness. Favoring his right side, the agent had leaned his body left, away from the hardness of the door, eventually resting his head up against Rabb's shoulder.  
  
Rabb pulled the car to a stop. Webb seemed to stir slightly at the sudden lack of movement, but he made no effort to raise himself from the JAG man's shoulder. His body seemed terribly twisted in the seat, Rabb thought, though the alternative of Webb's shoulder up against the rocking of the car door would certainly have been worse.  
  
"Clay?" Rabb offered quietly.  
  
Webb stirred a little more, finally realizing the uncomfortable position he was in, both figuratively and literally.  
  
"Oh, man," he said as he wakened more. "Sorry, Rabb," he started, and then a cough overtook him. Webb leaned heavier into Rabb, unable to gain any purchase due to the increased pain and unexpected dizziness the coughing had brought on.  
  
"Stay where you are," Rabb directed as he eased the operative off his shoulder. "I'll come around and get you." Webb remained silent, save the heavy breathing he was now managing as his head hung listlessly to his chest.  
  
With great effort on Rabb's part, and more pain for Webb, they were able to make their way into the cabin.  
  
Rabb found a light switch over the half wall between the kitchen and the dining area. He flipped it on, and light was shed over both areas by the fluorescent bulb in the kitchen. Rabb was sorry to see the inside of the place lacking in the rustic charm that the outside had hinted.  
  
It mattered little. This would be no enjoyable stay at a cabin in the country.  
  
Rabb had placed Webb on the sofa, helping the agent to lie back against several pillows. He put two more pillows under Webb's legs, and threw the afghan that lay on the back of the couch over his now alternately chilled and fevered cohort.  
  
Webb opened his eyes and noticed Rabb looking about the cabin, trying to decide what to do next.  
  
"Rabb," he called weakly, eliciting another series of coughs. Though the entreaty was quiet, it was plenty loud to gain Rabb's attention, though the renewed coughing had done the trick in that regard.  
  
"Yeah, Clay?" he asked, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of the agent. Rabb was glad to see Webb relatively alert. He hoped that maybe the injury wasn't as bad as it seemed.  
  
"There should be a CB radio.somewhere. It'll be set to contact our, uh, hosts." Webb grimaced, the waves of pain almost constant now. "They'll send a medic."  
  
"You mean an ambulance," Rabb started.  
  
"I mean they'll send someone who.ah.who can help.won't ask questions."  
  
"You need."  
  
"Just make the call, Harm. Please?"  
  
"Fine. But you owe me an explanation for all of this." Rabb's patience was wearing thin as he continued to know so little about this operation - except that it had almost killed Clayton Webb. And that it still might. 


	4. 1815 Zulu CIA Cabin, Manassas, VA

Webb's insistence on no painkillers was expected - and frustrating. The 'medic', it turned out, was a retired surgeon, though no surgery had taken place to help the agent. The doctor deeply cleaned the wound, an effort that on its own lost the spy to thankful unconsciousness. This allowed the doctor to clean both the entrance and exit wounds in a way that would surely have caused Webb extreme pain if he had remained awake for it. Rabb was glad he was out. The surgeon treated and then wrapped Webb's upper arm tight against his body to prevent unnecessary movement that could restart the bleeding.  
  
The doctor had been clear to Rabb in his instructions: this was a temporary fix, it would not last for long, and Webb needed to have surgery as soon as possible. The man emphasized the high risk of serious, permanent damage if he wasn't treated properly soon.  
  
Though the doctor had provided topical antibiotics and an injection as well, the wounds had already been slightly infected and might cause more illness before the antibiotics kicked in, the doctor warned.  
  
Before leaving, the medic told Rabb to expect Webb to sleep for several hours. That was not good news to Rabb, but true to Webb's stubborn nature, the spy was awake less than an hour after the doctor had departed.  
  
"What's the damage?" Webb asked softly. The sun was setting in the hill country not far from the location of two great battles of the Civil War. The golden light was filtered by cloud cover, but still helped to cast a warm light on Webb's features. Rabb doubted that his actual skin tone was really any better at all.  
  
The Navy commander seemed to be battling on a number of fronts: what, if any, relationship was there worth salvaging with the CIA man, what he needed to do to get Webb the help he needed, what had gotten the operative in this situation in the first place. There were actually few names that came to mind of those he would trust with whom to venture into battle. Despite their recent, fragmented past, Clayton Webb's name still remained on that list.  
  
"Some bone shattered when the bullet went through," Rabb started as he brought a tray over to the coffee table. He handed Webb a glass of water. Webb drank thirstily. "That's why you have so much pain. Doc said when the bone chips move it's like slicing through with a knife. Easy with that, Webb."  
  
"Good description," Webb sighed, handing the glass back, a slight tremble in his left hand noticeable to the JAG lawyer.  
  
Rabb knew that Webb had suffered some serious nerve damage during those sessions of torture in Paraguay. It had been most obvious in the agent's right hand. Rabb hoped this new injury, also on the right side, would not inflame that only recently healed injury.  
  
"Yeah. You've also got a fever." Rabb held a bowl of soup and appeared ready to help Webb to eat it. Webb looked Rabb dead on, as though the thought of a naval officer feeding him was the worst possible scenario of this current predicament.  
  
"It's okay with me if you do this yourself. I just didn't think you'd be up to it."  
  
"Just leave it on the table. I've been feeding myself for a long time now, Rabb." Rabb nodded, thinking how similar they were in temperament.  
  
"Okay. I've got some pills you need to take. More antibiotics, enough to get you through the next day or so."  
  
"Damn. Forgot about them. They make me drowsy," he added, struggling with a spoonful of soup.  
  
"You need them, Clay," Rabb said seriously.  
  
"I know." Webb finished a second try at the soup and then leaned back, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths.  
  
"Not feeling so hot," Rabb stated.  
  
"Not really," the illness evident on every inch of the spy. "But I'll live."  
  
Rabb sat down again on the coffee table. He had hoped to give Webb some time, a little more time to rest and get some nourishment in him. That part didn't seem likely just yet, and they really didn't have the luxury of waiting around; that just meant delaying the medical help that Webb so clearly still needed.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"  
  
The spy looked the lawyer square in the eyes. "Yeah, but you're not going to like it."  
  
"When do I ever?" Rabb replied snidely.  
  
"Well, this time," Webb paused to sit up, a chorus of aches greeting him as he did. He closed his eyes to ride out the pain, and Rabb felt a twinge of guilt at the earlier curt comment. "This time you'll be justified."  
  
"Clay, I didn't mean." Webb interrupted before Rabb could finish.  
  
"I know what you mean, Rabb. Just let me get through this."  
  
Rabb knew he needed to let Webb continue. They'd have to discuss the rest - that underlying tension that made Rabb say things that he really didn't mean, the tension that had manifested itself in a similar manner with Mac so many times before - that would all have to wait for when time was not so dear, and lives were not in jeopardy.  
  
"Sure. Go ahead."  
  
"I got a call from one of my contacts in Paramaribo. Never thought time spent in that place would ever amount to anything useful, but the guy put me on to a lead on a group called Brothers for Islamic Freedom. Ever heard of them?"  
  
"No, but I can imagine what they are," Rabb shook his head, wondering when the hate would ever end.  
  
"They're a splinter group, a few times removed from the Taliban. They've been importing large shipments of guns into the states."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. It's disillusioning to think just how vulnerable we are at the border. My man gave me inside information on where the B.I.F. were hiding their stores and where the next shipment would be arriving. I've been working with Mexican intelligence and they've been able to track down and isolate the source. This route into the country is effectively shut down."  
  
"That's all good news, Webb. The warehouse where I found you wasn't that place, right?"  
  
"No." Webb was tired. Beyond tired. But this story needed to be told. Rabb sensed that there was still something big that Webb had yet to divulge; the reason why he was the one Webb reached out to, despite their recent estrangement.  
  
"CP Imports is the front for the guy running the operation."  
  
"Running the operation? I thought this was Taliban-related." Rabb was confused that someone other than the terrorist group would be doing the importing. "And why, by the way, has the CIA allowed the Taliban and others the freedom to build up their operations here?" As soon as it came out Rabb regretted verbalizing that thought.  
  
Webb sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking at the significant sweat on his fingers before wiping it on the blanket surrounding him. Maybe Rabb had been the wrong choice here. He always saw things so clearly. Life was delightfully clear and uncomplicated when you were Harmon Rabb, Webb thought.  
  
"I don't know, Harm."  
  
Rabb watched the spy. He knew he couldn't hold Webb responsible for all of the failures of the U.S. intelligence community. Webb just happened to be conveniently available to vent to. Rabb acknowledged that this was not the time or place for discussing the political, social or human consequences of those failures.  
  
"Sorry. I thought you said this splinter group was running this?"  
  
"No. The B.I.F. is the customer. CP Imports is procuring the weapons and selling them to the B.I.F."  
  
"CP Imports?" Rabb asked, eyes wide at the implication.  
  
Webb knew it would not take Harmon Rabb long to put everything together. Recognition shown in Rabb's face when he offered, "Clark Palmer. CP Imports."  
  
"Yes. I traced the operations to a website where I found two things: the host of the site was a server at Fort Leavenworth and they had offices here in D.C."  
  
"Warehouse 34."  
  
"Right. But before I got there I was ambushed. They shot me, but they didn't kill me. And they put that tracking device on my coat."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"You have an idea, though."  
  
"You could say that." Webb was perspiring heavily now, but Rabb needed to know more if he was going to help Webb get out of this mess. Again he felt obliged to let the agent continue, even though the thing Clayton Webb needed now more than anything was rest.  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I found another name with the stuff I unearthed about CP Imports. A long trail of incriminating evidence of collusion, aiding terrorist activities, probably a dozen other indictable offenses by someone you'd never suspect would be working with Clark Palmer."  
  
Rabb was surprised to hear this. Palmer was a loner and had always taken great pleasure in performing his acts of treachery, and worse, solo. It was clear that whoever it was, it was a name with which Clayton Webb was familiar, and fully expected Rabb to recognize as well.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"Harmon Rabb, Jr."  
  
"Me?" he shook his head, the slightest laugh preceded a look of admiration at Palmer's efforts.  
  
"You've had a busy year, Harm. Since that Singer fiasco, then saving the day in Paraguay." Webb looked away, the regret lingering over his failure to capture Sadik Fahd, though the thought of what could have been lost tempered any actual losses. "Then working for the CIA, and then not working for the CIA, then back at JAG. Hard to believe you'd have." Webb coughed, and Rabb finished the thought.  
  
".time to organize all this." The coughing went on, exhausting the operative. Webb looked worse now than he had when the doctor finished working on him.  
  
"You okay?" Rabb's face displayed a mix of worry for Webb's condition and concern that Clark Palmer was wreaking havoc once again. Would he ever be rid of that menace?  
  
"I'm fine," Webb answered, though it was clear he was far from it. The recent prolonged bouts of coughing indicated that Webb might have aspirated some during his earlier bout of illness. That meant possible pneumonia - other causes of the coughing had far worse implications, though the doctor had been fairly confident that no damage had been done to Webb's lung by the bullet.  
  
"I've got some painkillers, if you want them." Rabb knew what to expect in reply, though he was obliged to offer. He had little else to offer the injured man. Well, that was not entirely true, but he wasn't sure his head was yet at a point that he felt comfortable offering more. His heart was providing incentive in that direction, but Harmon Rabb knew he needed more time. At least he thought he did.  
  
"I'm fine," Webb stated firmly, the conviction in his reply and in his bearing trumping the way he felt, or looked.  
  
"Okay." Rabb looked intently at the hurting man before him but did not pursue what Webb so earnestly chose to ignore. "Do you have a plan?"  
  
"I do. Where'd you dump the tracking device?"  
  
Rabb was stunned. He was sure Webb had been unconscious while he removed the device and stowed it in the last rest stop before exiting the interstate.  
  
"Rabb," Webb started, slight frustration marking his tone. "you're not stupid enough to lead someone here. You had to have dumped it."  
  
"I did. I thought.you've seemed so out of it."  
  
"Didn't think I had it in me?" The question rang with sadness. Disappointment. Rabb hated to hear it, because what he really felt for Clayton Webb right then was deep admiration, and guilt, for having doubted Webb's abilities, and forgetting Webb's intense devotion to his job and country - and his determination to do the right thing.  
  
The fact that Webb sought him for help was really more an effort to assure Rabb's good name, the Navy man now realized. Webb's belief in Harmon Rabb's innocence in any complicity where Palmer was concerned said so much about how he was perceived in the eyes of the spy. Their distance of late never compromised that. Rabb owed Webb much, much more than he'd ever thought he would, especially after the debacle in South America.  
  
Rabb had viewed the entire Paraguay fiasco as just that: a fiasco, perpetrated by Clayton Webb. Slipshod and dangerously risky, jeopardizing his own life, but worse, Mac's life and possibly many more had those stinger missiles not been found and destroyed. Rabb knew that he had viewed everything that Webb had done on that mission, either as an eyewitness to the events himself or in hindsight, with the taint of a failed operative, and with little thought given his own part in Webb's initial downfall and banishment to Suriname.and subsequent locations far worse, Rabb later learned.  
  
Had his feelings for Mac, and his jealousy over Webb's closeness with her been so blinding? Had he allowed it to derail not only a friendship but also the respect due a good man? He hoped he wasn't that shallow. He hoped it wasn't too late to rebuild a relationship that his heart seemed to ache to renew.  
  
"No. That's not it at all, Clay. You just never cease to amaze me."  
  
"Yeah, well, we better get moving," he replied, unsure just what to feel about Rabb's admission. "I'll tell you my plan on the way."  
  
A long ten minutes later, the CIA agent and the Navy lawyer were on their way. 


	5. 1825 Zulu Outside Manassas, VA

"Palmer's been out."  
  
"What?" Rabb couldn't believe his ears.  
  
"He's been getting out. My sources have confirmed his participation in activities at the warehouse and on a freighter. Seems he likes to inspect the goods himself.  
  
"It can't be him. They've got him under special guard at Leavenworth."  
  
"Harm, I don't know how he's managing it. But he's out when he wants to be."  
  
"You think he'll come personally?"  
  
"I know he will. He always comes out of the woodwork for you. You seem to push all his buttons, Rabb."  
  
"And he mine." Rabb pondered aloud. "What's your plan?"  
  
"He's going to be monitoring the rest stop, so he'll see us if we show up."  
  
"I took care of that."  
  
"Whaddya mean?" Webb asked, suspicion and adrenaline now combining to help him through the current round of pain and exhaustion.  
  
"I called for back up. They picked up the device."  
  
"Rabb, what were you thinking? They could have traced the call."  
  
"They didn't. I was careful. They picked up the tracking device and will be waiting in the restaurant."  
  
"The restaurant! Great. Very stealthy, Rabb. No wonder the CIA fired you."  
  
"Funny, Webb. Don't worry. They'll be disguised enough to keep Palmer and his minions guessing. As soon as they see my car, they'll head out. We know that will bring Palmer and any accomplices out. The question is what do we do next?"  
  
"Who'd you get?"  
  
"Mac and the Admiral." Rabb prepared himself for the coming tirade.  
  
"Sarah? I asked you not to call her."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I didn't want." Webb faltered, not wanting his emotions to take him too far off track. He was experiencing enough trouble focusing as it was, with the world occasionally tipping and the nearly constant stabbing pain. He knew he had to keep it together, but with Sarah now in the picture he feared his decision making ability would be compromised.  
  
"We needed help, Clay."  
  
"I needed help, that's why I called you."  
  
"We need help," Rabb insisted. "You're not exactly in any shape for a fight. Mac and the Admiral know what to do."  
  
"Really? I barely know what to do."  
  
Rabb knew that was not true, though he could understand Webb's reluctance to expose Mac to danger again. The last time they were lucky to get out alive. There was no doubt that Webb now felt he held Mac's life in his hands again, no matter how illogical and untrue the feeling was. He also knew that in this line of work, despite the best planning, things still might not turn out as expected. And they had little time for planning this time.  
  
That was the price Webb paid for the work he did.  
  
And it was the price that Rabb and Mac and the Admiral would pay if necessary. The chance to get Palmer made it necessary for Rabb. Helping to put Webb back in the good graces of the CIA made it necessary for all of them.  
  
"I know that's not true." Rabb placed his hand comfortingly upon Webb's good shoulder and gave him a look that said he trusted him, and that it was time to get this job done. 


	6. 1840 Zulu I66, near Manassas, VA

As Rabb and Webb pulled up near the restaurant, using baseball caps to hide their own faces from immediate recognition, they saw two figures rise from a booth and head for the exit. The shorter of the two stopped to pay the cashier, and then they both headed out.  
  
Chegwidden and Mac walked directly to the back seats. As Harm began to back out, shots were fired at the vehicle.  
  
"Damn!" the Admiral intoned as he bent down in the back seat, shielding Mac as he did so. "Get us out of here, Rabb!"  
  
"I'm trying sir!" he responded loudly as he threw the car into drive and sped out of the parking lot. Flooring the accelerator threw all of the passengers into the backs of their seats, the shock of the pain shooting through his shoulder preventing Webb from stifling a groan.  
  
"Clay? Are you hurt?" Mac asked as she started to reach up to him.  
  
"Colonel, keep your head down," Chegwidden ordered as bullets continued to make their way through the glass and into the back of the Lexus.  
  
"You know where you're headed, Harm?" Webb asked, breathing heavily as he tried to keep the impending vertigo at bay. The slam he'd sustained tore into his shoulder. He could feel the wet oozing of fresh blood beginning under the layers of bandage.  
  
"I've got it. You alright?" Harm asked, concern evident in his face. Mac did not miss the exchange.  
  
"Is one of you going to tell me what's going on?"  
  
Silence from the front seat as the bullets finally failed to hit any target was about all that Sarah MacKenzie could take.  
  
"Clay?" Harm risked a brief glance at Webb and saw that he wasn't going to be able to answer Mac fast enough. Webb had gone frighteningly pale again.  
  
As Webb worked to get his bearings, Rabb said, "Mac, give him a minute. He took a bullet in the shoulder earlier tonight. I think I might've inflamed it speeding out of there."  
  
"I'm okay," Webb managed. It was clear to Rabb that he was forcing himself to hide any trace of pain from his voice. It didn't fool Rabb, and he doubted it would fool Mac for very long.  
  
"Clay, have you had it treated?" Mac asked, still concerned, but happy to hear Webb's voice sounding somewhat normal.  
  
"It's okay, Sarah." Mac looked in the rearview mirror and saw Rabb's eyes, eyes that confirmed, for now, that Clay's words were true. But she also noticed the deep concern that even dusk turning to night could not hide.  
  
"We're getting close Clay," Rabb reported.  
  
"Close to what, Mr. Rabb?" Chegwidden demanded as he and Mac both checked their weapons. Nobody in the car missed the Admiral's tone: he wanted more information on why they were being shot at and he wanted it immediately.  
  
" 'CP Imports'. Clark Palmer's import warehouse," Webb offered.  
  
"Clark Palmer?" Mac asked, worry in her voice as she caught Rabb's eye again in the mirror.  
  
"The man has more lives than a cat," Chegwidden commented. "You think he's going to follow us there?" The Admiral sounded skeptical at best.  
  
"He will," Webb insisted. "We've got his last shipment and all of the manifests of previous imports of weapons. We have his books, his accountant and his sources. He knows we have him. His only way out is to get us first."  
  
"That's good, Webb. It'd be nice if you'd somehow manage to one day involve my people in a mission that did not risk their lives."  
  
"Sir, getting you and the Colonel involved was not Webb's idea," Rabb started in defense of his CIA partner.  
  
"Don't defend me, Harm. I got you involved." Rabb and Webb's eyes met in the dim light filtering into the car. It was dark and overcast, and the lighting in the warehouse district was hit or miss at best. But at this moment, when these two men's eyes met in friendship, they knew that the healing of a relationship had begun.  
  
"I'd have been pissed if you hadn't called me, Clay." Rabb left off what else he was thinking: that if he had not come he would have had to face the reality of Webb's death, the true reality of it. He was glad that he could have some say in the postponement of another meeting with Porter Webb on that topic.  
  
Rabb parked the car and the foursome exited, Mac opening the door to help Clay out. Webb virtually fell from the seat, Mac using all of her Marine muscle to keep the spy upright.  
  
"Clay, you should be in a hospital," Mac said, her right arm tightly about his waist, her left cupping the fevered cheek.  
  
Clay wished he could let go; he would have liked nothing more than to give in to the pain and sickness and let Sarah MacKenzie nurse him back to health.  
  
"This'll be over soon, Sarah. Let's get inside."  
  
"Colonel, stick with Webb. Stay quiet. You're pretty well hidden here. Rabb and I will draw their attention." 'And their fire', though thought by all, went unsaid.  
  
The Admiral took over the logistics, similar to his commanding presence during Tim Fawkes' rescue in Italy. Though he was still angry with Rabb for calling Mac in, Webb was grateful to have these three JAG officers working by his side.  
  
"We'll talk later," Mac said softly to Clay, the threat clear, the fair warning combined with his current physical disadvantage to make him shiver. The shivering instantly brought out the warm, compassionate Sarah MacKenzie: she reached out her hand to Webb's face, the touch providing the warmth of a dozen wool blankets.  
  
"I'll position myself directly across from the door. Rabb, you take the opposite end from Mac and Webb." Chegwidden noticed Rabb's attention was directed to the affection the colonel was showing the injured operative. "Rabb, unless they manage an assault from the rear, we should be able to handle them."  
  
"Yes sir," Rabb answered, as he watched Mac remove her hand to check her weapon one more time.  
  
The four were in their positions for just a few minutes before the door opened. Two men entered, the door closing behind them. Both Rabb and Webb noted that neither newcomer was Palmer. The pair walked further into the room.  
  
"Drop your weapons," the Admiral directed. Both men immediately flew to the floor, aiming their guns and firing in the direction of Chegwidden's voice.  
  
Rabb fired at the one nearest him, his bullet embedding in the culprit's stomach. The man's gun fell to the floor, a mere split second before his body hit hard up against a ramp, and then his body stilled.  
  
His partner changed direction and began his assault on Rabb's position. The bad guy's back now faced Webb and Mac - any shot on their part risked missing the target and hitting Harm. The decision to shoot was quickly a moot one, as the Admiral's aim proved swift and perfect, one lethal shot to the throat forced the gunman to the hard concrete floor.  
  
The team remained in their positions, sure in the knowledge that at least one more perpetrator would make an appearance.  
  
Occasional quiet breathing punctuated the silence, but that was all that was heard amongst the three JAG lawyers and one CIA man, tense minutes passing as they awaited their quarry.  
  
"Nice job," the voice chimed. "And then there was one." Clark Palmer had announced his presence.  
  
"Palmer, you may as well come out. You can't get away."  
  
"Rabb, good buddy. Glad you could make the party. Is Webb still with us? I guess my pitch was a little high and outside."  
  
"I'm here, Palmer. Give it up." Heavy breaths punctuated each word. Mac was worried, but she knew they had to ride this out before they could get Webb the help he needed.  
  
"Oooh, not sounding too good there, Clay. Looks like I can leave you for last. But I want to commend you before I kill you. I thought I covered all my bases." Palmer offered a wicked laugh, followed by, "Did you see that? Another baseball metaphor. I crack myself up."  
  
"Palmer, we're not letting you out of here, whatever it takes."  
  
"Who's that? Another person to play with. Are you CIA, or do I have another lawyer on my hands?"  
  
Clark Palmer was speaking from somewhere behind the Admiral, toward the front of the warehouse, back behind the office space. That put Chegwidden in the most vulnerable position. And because they were in a warehouse, the sound traveled in such a way that it would be obvious to Palmer if Rabb or the Admiral had moved once either spoke next. With Webb growing weaker and not able to get very far without assistance, Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie realized that she would need to perform the reconnaissance to check Palmer's position.  
  
Easing close to Webb's ear, Mac whispered, "I'm going to go find him."  
  
Webb, desperate to stop her, grabbed at her with his right arm, momentarily forgetting his injury, keeping Mac safe blocking out any other matter at hand. A loud, "Ah!" followed by the sounds of a body landing on the floor put all of the occupants of the building on alert.  
  
"Webb?" Rabb called out, fairly sure about what might have transpired on the far end of the cavernous warehouse office. It was unlikely Palmer knew that Mac was with them, though that situation was likely to change swiftly. Webb's attempt to stop her from heading out to track Palmer down had resulted in Webb passing out from the effort. Rabb was impressed that he'd held out as long as he had.  
  
"Sounds like your boy just got called out, Rabb," Palmer joked.  
  
"Doesn't matter, Palmer. We're still going to take you."  
  
"Sure you will, Rabb. Because you've been so good at that before. Why do you suppose that is, Harm? You're an accomplished Navy man, know how to handle yourself."  
  
"I'm not as devious as you." Rabb's best bet, for now, was to keep Palmer talking. They had to hope as well that Palmer was indeed alone.  
  
"I'm hurt. And you use the word as though it was a bad thing. I think there's another reason why you keep letting me 'slip away'," the last phrase delivered as though a euphemism.  
  
"And what do you think that is?" Rabb didn't care, but Mac's chances would be best if he could keep Palmer distracted.  
  
"I think you like it. I think you'd miss the chase. The thrill. I also think you like me. You do like me Rabb, don't you?"  
  
"This isn't about me, Palmer. What's your game? Webb told me he shut your operation down. You've got nothing. Give it up and maybe you'll live."  
  
"Live? I'm not living, you took care of that. No, you've got nothing I want, Rabb. Let me re-phrase: you do have something I want. Your life. So I'm taking that before I go tonight, Rabb. And making sure Webb's dead over there will be like icing on the cake."  
  
"Palmer, even if you get Rabb and Webb, you still have to deal with me."  
  
"No, not really. I'll have gotten the two I wanted. By then I'll be feeling pretty magnanimous, I should think. Chances are I'll let you go."  
  
"You really think you have the upper hand, don't you Palmer?"  
  
"Rabb, this conversation really has grown tiresome."  
  
"I agree."  
  
Sarah MacKenzie now stood behind Clark Palmer, gun leveled directly at his head. "Put your weapon down."  
  
"Look who it is. The beautiful Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie."  
  
"Put the gun down, Palmer. I won't mind shooting you in the back."  
  
"That's not a very nice thing to hear coming from a Marine lawyer." Palmer shifted slightly. "I could be taping this conversation."  
  
"Move again with that gun in your hand and I will shoot you. Put the gun down. Now."  
  
"Okay, okay. Looks like that's the only way I'll get myself an up close look at Rabb's Marine babe. Besides, I like a woman who orders me around. It makes me hard."  
  
Palmer bent down to the side and placed the gun on the floor. As he rose, he turned fast and dove for Mac's legs, slamming her up against a rack of boxes. Mac's own weapon flew, banging hard up against the metal frame of the shelving and discharged.  
  
Palmer's face tightened in confusion and blood showed on his forehead, trickling first and then gushing from the home that the stray bullet had found in his brain. He fell to the floor, a puddle forming instantly about his head.  
  
Rabb and Chegwidden showed up as Mac checked Palmer for other weapons.  
  
"Is he dead?" Rabb asked, pulling Mac to him to assure that she was all in one piece.  
  
"I didn't check. He jumped me. My weapon flew. It discharged when it hit the shelf, and Palmer caught it in the head."  
  
Chegwidden kneeled down to check for a pulse. "He's dead."  
  
"Good." Webb stood behind them, leaning heavily against a stack of crates.  
  
"Clay," Mac said softly, moving to him as she stowed her weapon. Webb was shaking and sweating, and his pallor seemed too close to that of the dead former DSD agent on the floor.  
  
"Sarah!" Webb yelled as he raised his weapon and aimed it in Mac's direction. Mac's eyes went wide as she watched Webb pull the trigger, a mere arm's length in front of her; the deafening blast from Webb's Glock and the sound of a body slamming hard against the wall behind her clear indications that Webb had just saved her life.  
  
The weapon fell from Webb's hand as he tumbled to the floor, his fall cushioned by Sarah MacKenzie's arms. 


	7. 1830 Zulu Webb's townhouse, Alexandria, ...

"Hey, how's he doing?" Harmon Rabb entered the townhouse as Mac held the door open. Mattie grinned as she waltzed in ahead of Rabb and kissed the Marine colonel on the cheek.  
  
"Ssssh. Grouchy," Mac whispered. "He's napping," she added quietly as she pointed to the sofa.  
  
"Follow me," she whispered as she headed out of Webb's living room. The kitchen was the destination, where Rabb set grocery bags down. Mattie followed with a bag filled with flowers.  
  
"Pretty," Mac said as she handed Mattie a vase and a pair of scissors and left her at the sink to do the arranging.  
  
"Sick of being sick, huh?" Rabb whispered knowingly.  
  
"He's not the only one. You don't have to whisper in here. This place is like a bunker. If I hear, 'Sarah!' yelled one more time I'm gonna grab a pillow and put us both out of our misery.  
  
Mattie laughed behind them.  
  
"Sorry, Mattie. You know I'm only joking," Mac smiled at the girl who had made such a difference in her partner's outlook on life.  
  
Rabb smiled at his partner. Webb had been right. Their first private conversation together after Webb's surgery was about how much Mac had missed Rabb. Rabb had insisted that it wasn't so, that they'd worked together on cases since he had returned to JAG. Things were fine, Rabb had assured Webb; the spy had just misread the signals he thought he was receiving from Mac.  
  
Webb was in no mood for the JAG lawyer's denials, and had basically told Rabb to quit being an ass and go talk to her.  
  
The fact was that Mac had missed him, and while Webb suffered through some minor post-op troubles and started therapy, it had given Rabb and Mac the chance to work on their own fragile relationship. Not surprisingly, it had taken no time at all to get back to a good footing with each other. Their relationship had begun eight years ago with a solid base of friendship and trust; any other feelings were easily suppressed or dismissed for the shared goal of getting back to that good place. They were happy for that, and thankful to Webb for making them sit together and talk through it.  
  
Mac also knew that Mattie's place in Harm's life had been pivotal in putting his mind and his heart back in step with the Harmon Rabb of old.  
  
Clay and Harm, on the other hand, were still working at their own friendship. Mac's influence there had been invaluable, but Webb still hurt over the Paraguay debacle and the way Rabb had been so quick to dismiss his worthiness of a place in his life.  
  
Mac and Clay had spent long hours discussing it, as had Mac and Harm. Mac was more than happy to hear both sides. She found that their differences and shared concerns were not insurmountable. She knew that one day they would find the appropriate time when they could dispense with using her as an intermediary. She looked forward to the day when these men, good men, impressive men of immense character, men who were brave and true - she cherished the thought of that day when they would meet each other and learn that their differences were not so vast, and understand that what they shared was far greater and worth the commitment they had made to find it.  
  
One day.  
  
Concentrating on Clay's recovery, her reinvigorated partnership and friendship with Harm, and Rabb and Webb's still evolving one, had left little time for Sarah MacKenzie to think about the change in her feelings for Clayton Webb, and where that relationship might be headed. That would need some attention soon, she knew. But for now, things were going well: Clay would recover, Harm was truly back - she was happy for now to have both of these men so near to her heart.  
  
Great strides had been made all-around, even to the point where Clay had decided to let Rabb come over and fix them all a vegetarian dinner.  
  
Mac figured if that kind of trust wasn't the basis of a beautiful friendship, what was?  
  
The End. 


End file.
